


The Olive Branch

by junkienicky



Category: Wentworth (TV)
Genre: Enemies to Friends, Other, Reconciliation, Resolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-14
Updated: 2019-08-14
Packaged: 2020-07-30 14:42:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20098864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/junkienicky/pseuds/junkienicky
Summary: An 'I owe you' and a thank you, of sorts.





	The Olive Branch

**Author's Note:**

> I always wished we got a post-fire scene of these two. Shout out to Lutefiskfisk, thank you for continuing to review my work!

The times Franky had studied her ghost-like reflection in the mirror on the wall of her cell was undisclosed to her. The integer was probably boundless to what her brain could discern.

It had blurred with the water vapour from her filled sink until she ducked her head up and used an arm to smudge the condensation away. And there it was. That face. The look of pity, fear and self-preservation she had built and grown accustomed to over the years in that teal tracksuit. It was like a split personality; an alter-ego of sorts, she supposed, because while she was certainly not ‘soft’ on the outside, many months as a newbie, a year as Top Dog and three years as a prisoner had definitely gifted her razorblade edges.

She let herself stare - fixating those viridescent eyes on the apathetic mien that was on display in front of her and let it burn as an image into her mind. Soon, she wouldn’t have to look and see complete shame anymore. She could look at a new reflection in some entirely unfamiliar environment, and not be reminded of her precipitous falls from grace or the reckless transgressions she’d taken against her prison family. If she tried hard enough, anyway.

Water dripped and rolled down Franky’s neck and chin as she reached to fetch a face towel. After abrasively rubbing her skin dry, she didn’t expect to see a lean figure stood by the door of her cell when she next glanced up. A little delayed, Bea announced her presence with a small cough.

“Wasn’t expecting a visitor,” Franky said, drying her hands with the towel.

Breezily, and with no protest, Bea fully stepped into the cell and let her eyes wander. She felt Franky’s eyes settle on her with inquisition and only the daintiest tint of resentment. The rift between them, once wide and heightened with blistering tensions strong enough to equivalate to chemical warfare, had been bridged. Even if by weakened planks, they’d allowed each other to cross the gulf and meet halfway to see eye to eye. If it had been up to Bea entirely, she’d have given Franky a wide berth from the very get-go, but then, while cooperation wasn’t entirely vital, it was necessary in bringing Ferguson down for good. In many ways, Bea was glad they’d put this bitter rancour to bed.

“Tomorrow’s the big day then,” Bea commented. It was strange, a cell once so brimmed with clutter to look so relatively empty. No chunky law books sitting on the shelf, hot pictures pinned to the wall or Callum University flyers and notes. Even that Madonna autobiography had been packed away. The room was stripped of everything ‘Franky’ and soon, it would be someone else’s wall to decorate with pictures. Someone else’s shelf to store whatever type of books they read.

“Yeah,” Franky replied, still quietly astonished by how close it was – practically lingering in the distance like a piece of gold twinkling in the harsh point of a desert storm. Franky had been through the ringer, and the amount of pain and salted tears she’d tasted had almost been enough to mistakenly convince herself that she was perhaps omnipotent. A pinch on the arm was enough to pull her from that, however. She might be full to the brim with resilience and stubbornness, but brutal honesty was key in her survival. She had never been as strong and invincible as she made herself out to be. Especially not without the help she’d declined for so long. As soon as she could step foot out of those gates, she’d peel off that hardened shell and set out to be the street-smart law guru that she was always meant to be.

She glanced at the redhead’s opaque face. Try as she might, it had become impossible to predict any of Bea’s future words or moves over the time that she’d watched her evolve from a dark horse to the face of the prison. Franky was a master people-reader, too. Yet with Bea, it manifestly wasn’t as simple as that.

“Not gonna screw it up, are you?”

“Shit no,” Franky quipped, relaxing her posture against the sink. The world was gassed up on beans if it thought Franky Doyle was ever going to show her face in this place again.

Bea nodded. “Good.” She was yet to declare any reasoning for her unusual late-night visit, though Franky supposed it was more of a check-up. She’d returned from the hospital earlier in the evening with no long-term damage from the smoke fumes of the fire and Bea wasn’t exactly the first in line to pull Franky into a “Welcome back” embrace. Until now. Touchy.

Franky caught her bottom lip between her teeth as she let a sudden inquiry sit on her tongue for a moment. “Why did you do it?” She allowed it to slip.

“Do what?”

Franky rolled her eyes. Did she really have to spell it out?

“Come back for me. You could’ve died.” Sure, they’d had a reconciliation of sorts, but for Bea to quite literally throw her life on the line like that….

It stirred complicated thoughts and _feelings _in Franky’s mind that she wasn’t sure she wanted to fully acknowledge. She’d long since let herself admit that velvety imaginations had eclipsed other thoughts for a good while now. And, fuck, was it annoying to impulsively begrudge someone so much that it became an attraction. A curiosity she’d allowed to stroke her thoughts after dark. A secret fascination – and, yes, she’d keep that to herself.

Bea scoffed. “Yeah, and you would have, if I’d just left you.” Then she smiled. Oh, she got it now. “Don’t make the mistake of thinking I wouldn’t have done it for any of the other women. It just happened to be you getting stuck in there.”

“Ah, so what you’re saying is you’re not just my knight in shining armour all for me. Shame,” Franky grinned and twitched her nose. That stupid, goofy and cocky grin that Bea found she would miss a lot.

The redhead snorted and strolled her way back to the door of the cell. “You should get some rest.” And Franky agreed, remembering the dark circles under her eyes. With a curt nod, Bea turned to leave before she was caught by the heels and summoned by Franky’s “Oh, and Red…”

Quickly, the brunette shuffled and dug around in the side of her bed that was pressed up against the wall. Without warning, she tossed Bea a pack of something that she just managed to grab by the tips of her fingers.

“That’s your thanks.” Franky motioned. The Top Dog’s eyes dropped to the packet of flavoured chips.

“_Wooow._ Aren’t you the bearer of great gifts,” an unimpressed Bea said with a knowing smirk. Salt and vinegar. At least it sort of described their dynamic, in a weird, funny way. Not exactly Bonnie and Clyde or Batman and Robin, but…

Throwing her hands up in surrender, Franky took a stance to defend her crappy ‘thanks’ if, really, you could even count it as that. “Best I can do, Red. I gave Boomer the box of all my stuff. Take it or leave it.”

“I’ll pretend it’s an olive branch,” Bea chuckled. Franky gave her a nod in earnest. They had an endless road to rediscover, and with the line in the sand between then now trampled, there was a new light to see each other in. And, truthfully, if the sky fell down on Bea, the least Franky would do was try and hold it up for her.

“I owe ya,” Franky said, the glint in her eyes dropping to Bea’s feathery lips. And, oh, how she wondered…

But having some perspective, that was where a line would always remain parallel, much to Franky’s dismay.

Still, it was always there to play on.

“If you admit you think about me all the time,” she playfully poked.

With an eyeroll, Bea was already turning on her heels and leaving Franky’s cell. “Goodnight, Franky.”

“I’ll take that as a yes!” She swung round on the frame of her cell, calling after Bea.

With great effort, a smile was failed to be supressed from the Top Dog’s lips. Maybe it could be taken as a silent yes, but she’d bleed her guts out before that was ever confessed out loud.


End file.
